Diary
by HeathenVampires
Summary: After the first close call, Ingrid really ought to have learnt that her private diary wasn't always so private when it came to Vlad. Vlad/Ingrid one shot (warning for incest!)


**I've really been neglecting my OTP. I mean the YD fanfiction fandom seems kinda dead** ** _but_** **since I _still_ get alerts for people hearting my old work... I shall offer this and see what happens.**

 **Set around early season three.**

-YD-

Ingrid almost set it alight in her irritation, but her diary bore the words knocking around in her mind and it felt good to simply excise that toxic knowledge.

Where did Vlad get off on growing up _so well?_

She'd struggled with a twisted want for him when he still had puppy fat on his cheeks and couldn't fake an evil smirk if his unlife depended on it. Now he was lean and toned, jaw a sharp line that was highlighted by the pale glow of candlelight on corpse-white. His fangs were sharp and extended readily, his gait confident and hands sure.

And the _power..._

Oh did Ingrid wish that Chosen One thing had turned out to be a hoax, but no. Vlad had all the power any vampire could want, and he barely ever used it. When it was displayed, it was always this massively dramatic climb from what anybody else could be capable of.

Ingrid hated that she was affected by it. Hated that years and distance and _heartbreak_ hadn't put out that gut-churning fire, that torch she abhorred carrying for Vlad.

At first, she tried to deny the truth of it. Told herself she wanted not him, what he had. Their fathers approval. Ultimate power.

But Ingrid couldn't lie to herself forever. That heart stopping moment when Vlad first showed up, holding her diary in her hands, Ingrid was terrified. He might have seen... but Vlad never indicated that he had, and their father tossed the diary with the forgery into the fire. All evidence gone...

Until now. Ingrid knew writing it down was dangerous. It could be found, even with the book buried in the shroud of her coffin, or hidden amongst the wardrobe full of her dresses. She changed the stashing place regularly. But it was the only way Ingrid could vent the seething jealousy she had for Vlad and Erin, could make sense of the sickening lust in her own mind.

Admit the idiocy of her fleeting attempt to flirt with Bertrand, to see if Vlad even batted an eyelid but he just looked away, uninterested.

That irked her most. Ingrid was undead perfection personified on a bad day. Utterly indescribable on her best. And Vlad dared just _ignore_ her?

Back on her feet after the bout with blood poisoning but still using the chair to fool everyone, Ingrid wheeled herself into her room, then stepped up and went looking for her diary. Watching Vlad and Erin all over each other was sickening, and she needed to vent. She plucked the shroud from her coffin, sure the diary had been there.

It wasn't.

Ingrid checked her wardrobe. Nope. Under her coffin? No. Bottom of her make-up box?

Still no.

She became increasingly frustrated, then worried as every hiding place turned up empty. Had she hidden it so well even she couldn't find it?

The door closed.

Ingrid turned, saw Vlad leant against the door. In his hands, bound in red leather and studded with metallic spikes, sat her _diary._

"Looking for this?"

There really was no chance he hadn't read it. Not with the way he absent-mindedly flicked the pages, held it like the evidence it was.

"You went through my things?"

Vlad chuckled, the sound a low scoff that was worlds away from his pre-teen giggling.

"That's a bit rich for you, especially since you've been in mine. No other vampire wears perfume."

Oh, his voice had changed so much. Ingrid really didn't consider it acceptable that his voice could make her knees threaten to shake. She stared at the book in his hands, wondering if Vlad was going to say something.

"Give it back."

"In a minute. Just one thing... is it true?"

Feeling uncommonly wrong-footed, Ingrid stepped back when Vlad moved forward. He placed the diary on the side, following her and Ingrid wavered about whether or not to dart for the book and simply throw Vlad out of her room. But... there was something in his face that stilled her from bolting.

"Is what true?"

Vlad stepped closer, closer, closer... Ingrid could smell his pheromones, potent even at rest now. Still with a foot of distance between them, Vlad cocked his head a little, considering her.

"The way you feel. About me."

Ingrid twitched, thankful for the absence of a heartbeat to give away her nerves but still aware Vlad had some control over the situation. He _knew._

"That I hate your guts? Definitely."

He shook his head, backing Ingrid completely against the wall, one hand tracing the air just over her waist, the faintest brush against the side of her breast. Ingrid shivered, cursing her bodily response.

"Not what I meant."

When had he gotten to be the same height as her? Ingrid was in heels and he still looked her in the eye. Except when his eyes flicked down to her lips, and Ingrid tested him right back, parting them slightly to witness his response. Eyes darkened slightly before returning to Ingrid's.

"Then what?"

At this point, it was little more than stalling to ask. Vlad's tongue peeked out to moisten dry lips, saliva catching the candlelight so his mouth all but glowed.

"Those hidden longings. All this time... wasted."

Long gone was an unsure boy who could barely make his own decisions. Vlad kissed Ingrid without hesitation, not so much forceful as firm, confident in the expectation Ingrid would respond. She hated that he was right, but Ingrid couldn't fight the heat inspired by his mouth, her brother trapping her effectively between his body and the wall. His tongue slipped out, stroked hers and Ingrid shuddered as her belly tingled.

His hair was sleek, soft under her fingers. His hands were strong, sure against her waist. Vampires had no need to breathe, to stop for air, but Ingrid had to push him back before her mind became completely stupid with desire. Vlad was younger and it showed, that breather-esque panting, gasping for breath he didn't need as he observed her. If the fact they were brother and sister sickened him as it probably _should_ have, Vlad didn't show it.

"When?"

Ingrid had to know.

"Always."

His fangs scraped against her lip this time, and Ingrid couldn't help that her knees effectively buckled, held up only by Vlad's weight against hers, his hands on her hips.

"What about you?"

Vlad asked, breath cool against her cheek.

"Didn't you read it?"

"Your diary?"

"My old one. Stokely."

He shook his head, eyeing Ingrid with a dark, wanting stare.

"Then you would have known then."

Ingrid thought she might've been embarrassed to admit it, but she could feel his erection, taste his arousal on the air. It spurred her on, and Vlad growled against her ear.

"Well I know now."

"What about Erin?"

She wasn't about to become Vlad's side action, a secret thrill while he paraded that half fang around on his arm.

"Erin who?"

That was exactly the answer Ingrid wanted, bucking when Vlad's fingers curled over her collar, removing the heavy necklace adorning her. Then he _tore_ her dress open, insistent and searching for her skin. Ingrid tried to be annoyed, but Vlad muttered something about replacing it as he sucked her neck, tore the material completely down the middle and smirked when he found Ingrid was wearing not tights but high stockings.

Nothing impeded his goal, fingers stroking her bare stomach, lips roaming the top of her breast. If it weren't the middle of the night, Ingrid would be sure this was some kind of dream.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Something of the Vlad she remembered showed through, diluting fervent lust with checking that Ingrid wasn't against this reaching the inevitable point of no return.

"Fuck no."

Vlad made a sound of triumph, the fingers on her stomach dipped lower and found her wet, wanting. He hissed, bucked against her and Ingrid knew this would be fast and harsh, exactly as she needed from her little brother right now. She tore at his waistband, jeans finally opening and his cock finally exposed.

"Look who's all grown up."

She stroked him, teased her nails along the sensitive skin and Vlad whined against her neck, hands cupping her ass and hiking her up. There was a flicker of hesitation as he settled between her thighs, not pushing, not penetrating. Ingrid could wait no longer, thighs on his waist used to drag him closer.

"Fuck!"

Vlad swore into her skin, hips settled against hers as he filled her. Ingrid shuddered, aching with the size of him after so long untouched. Still, fucked against the wall by Vlad was definitely up there on Ingrid's list, and he wasn't set to disappoint. Adjusting to the union itself, the boy made man by time was not gentle or soft with her.

Ingrid clutched his leather-clad shoulders, bit his jacket to quiet her moans. Vlad's guttural groans sounded between gritted teeth as he fucked her, fingers a bruising vice on her soft thighs and Ingrid thrilled in the pain and pleasure. Mouths clashed messily, someones blood spilling when fangs met tender lips but Ingrid didn't know, didn't _care_ who. All that mattered was that delicious scrape of his cock inside her, the inferno he stoked in her belly.

She yanked his hair to tip Vlad's head back, sank her teeth - not fang - into his neck, needing to do _something_ with the spiralling feelings threatening to overwhelm her completely. Vlad only fucked her harder, scraped his nails down her back as he slid between skin and torn remnants of her dress. It distantly occurred to Ingrid that they'd barely removed fabric, that Vlad had seen far more of her than she had of him.

There would be time to remedy that when Ingrid wasn't shaking, twisting, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy as pleasure unwound her completely. Vlad's rhythm faltered but Ingrid fell anyway, dimly aware of his grunts of completion, the spill of cool liquid inside her.

Even Ingrid panted as they laxed from orgasm, body completely stunned by the feral heat she'd never known her brother capable of. He let her down, legs barely able to hold her on her heeled boots. She felt sore, bruised where Vlad had slammed their bodies together in primal bliss, but equally satisfied by the climax that was still sending little tremors through her muscles

"Fuck, we should have been doing that all along."

Vlad adjusted his clothes, fully dressed but there was no way he could pass for presentable. Ingrid's lipstick and the smudge of blood painted his mouth, his hair was roughed by Ingrid's fingers many times over. His neck bore marks of her teeth, though they would fade in hours as vampire healing pushed faint injury to nothingness.

He _reeked_ of sex and sin, of Ingrid. Her perfume, her arousal, her wetness damp on his jeans. His come slid down her thigh, her dress hanging limp from her shoulders. Vlad moved to pick up her diary, handed it over to her.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry I read it, but it is yours still."

Ingrid took it, set it on fire, threw it aside and hauled Vlad back against her body. She had no need for the place to vent... not now she had the real thing to unleash many built frustrations on.

-YD-

 **This was a half-finished prompt someone wrote me ages ago. I finished it. Wrote it. Hopefully someone enjoys it!**


End file.
